


Scars Remain

by SpectralScathath



Series: Muninn and Lugh- Fair Game Week 2020 [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, Minor dubcon?, day 5: Hurt/Comfort, emphasis on the hurt, no fluffy times today my dudes welcome to Gothic Horror, post ep12 so warnings for that I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpectralScathath/pseuds/SpectralScathath
Summary: There was someone else standing in the darkness of Qrow’s cell.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Muninn and Lugh- Fair Game Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665715
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	Scars Remain

Someone was in his cell.

Qrow blinked awake, years of training stopping his breathing from changing. It stayed how it was, long and slow and steady, barely a hitch to give away the fact that he’d woken up.

He was facing the wall, practically pressed against it, and his instincts told him that whatever presence currently occupying his cell was behind him. There wasn’t anywhere else they could be. He wouldn’t be able to get a look at them without turning over. If they were here to kill him, it was best to wait until they got closer, where he could launch his own surprise attack before they realised he wasn’t sleeping at all. Any hint that they’d been detected would put them on edge, make them wary.

Or… he could let them do it. It would be easy. No one would hear.

No, that was stupid. That was a bad idea. His nieces were still out there. Somewhere. Unless they’d been arrested like him.

“Hello, Qrow.” His head turned on instinct at that voice, that resonant baritone that not two days ago had breathed its final breath. The darkness in the cell felt almost physical, like trying to peer through thick smoke. He barely made out the shape of a man in the corner, leaning against the door. The window had been tinted black too, he realised, blotting out any light from the outside world.

“Clover?” He sat up, absolutely certain now that this was probably some sort of weird sleep paralysis. Clover was dead, and gone, all because of Qrow. The dead didn’t come back. Guilt choked at his throat. Even just a memory of the man he’d called friend, who he’d killed, that was enough to fray at what was left of him.

“The one and only,” was the reply. Cocky, self-assured, and proud. That sounded… it sounded like Clover, but there was something off about it. “You have something of mine.”

Qrow cocked his head, his instincts flaring, warning him of danger. “The pin?”

“That too.” There was a purr under that, something that bordered on possessive. Qrow tensed up, fist clenching around the bloodied pin.

“You’re not real.” It was sleep paralysis, fuck knows he’d woken up plenty of times to see weird shapes in the corner of his eye, nightmares from his scouting trips beyond the kingdoms that followed him into wakefulness.

He knew Taiyang had times when he woke up feeling cold, pressure constricting on his chest, like a hand reaching in and yanking on his heart, when he was reliving a mauling that didn’t leave scars.

Night terrors. Sleep paralysis. Stress-induced hallucinations, whatever the _fuck_ someone wanted to call it.

It. Wasn’t. _Real._

There wasn’t any danger.

Qrow forced himself to relax, because hey, it wasn’t real. If nothing else, he could apologise to a fake. He’d never get the chance to do so otherwise.

“I’m sorry I got you killed.” He didn’t mean for his voice to crack.

There was an answering chuckle, one that Qrow had gotten used to on endless missions playing cards in the back of a supply van, card tricks and banter shared between them. The figure by the door moved, still too far in the darkness for Qrow to see anything. “I’ll let you make it up to me. Close your eyes.”

“What?” He puffed up a bit in confusion. The fuck?

Another chuckle, rumbly and syrupy and sliding through Qrow’s defences like they didn’t exist. “Close your eyes.” There was a definite movement. A step forward.

Qrow scrunched his eyes shut in an instant. His subconscious was a nasty bastard. He didn’t want to see what kind of Clover it had dragged up. Probably the one bleeding out on snow, dying so fast he didn’t even have time to shiver from the cold.

Qrow didn’t want to see that. Not again.

He heard footsteps, heavy ones, come near him. A hand on the side of his head had him flinch to the side. Definitely not real. Clover’s hands were warm, Qrow knew that from the amount of casual touches the guy tossed around. All of them Qrow appreciated, especially the ones where Clover would first shuffle the deck, then slide Qrow’s cards over to him, fingers lingering long enough to brush against Qrow’s.

He felt more fingers touch his chin, tilting his head up and he nearly opened his eyes again. No. Whatever bloodied corpse his brain was throwing at him was not a mental image he needed. He was seeing it enough, if it wasn’t other people he cared about.

Something wrapped around his head, across the bridge of his nose, behind his ears, to the back of his head. He recognised the feeling. “What the fuck- is this a fucking blindfold?” Okay, now this was getting weird.

Dream Clover laughed, this time a lot less friendly than before. “Yep. So, I’m not real?”

“You’re a sleep paralysis hallucination, you’re not my first.” His pulse thudded loudly in his throat as he felt those hands tie off the blindfold and one of them cupped his chin again, tilting Qrow’s head from side to side. He had a feeling that his own hallucination was observing him.

“Not your first?” Clover’s voice took on a teasing tone. “Figured as much.” The hand on his chin tightened to hold him still before there were lips brushing against his, just a little cold, a bit rough, unfamiliar and full of lost opportunity.

Qrow froze up, eyes snapping open to a darkness even more complete than that of his cell. What the fuck? This was not standard practice for nightmares.

Clover’s other hand ran through his hair, fingers dragging through the dark strands in a soft tug, and Qrow melted into it all. He kissed him back, one hand coming up to rest on the other man’s jaw, pulling him closer as Qrow tried to pretend that this wasn’t all some messed-up dream.

Clover deepened the kiss, a soft nip at Qrow’s lower lip inviting him to do the same. He accepted and let himself fall into the sensation, trying to do anything to stop the hollow ache of loss.

The hand gripping his chin trailed down, knuckles brushing against his throat before those fingers trailed over Qrow’s collarbone, eliciting a shiver, and down to the clenched fist, clasped around a lucky pin. Clover pulled back, a small whine leaving Qrow’s throat as he did, their foreheads pressing together.

“Is that where my pin is?” Clover taunted, his grin so obvious Qrow knew he was wearing it even with the blindfold on.

“I like sparkly things, sue me,” he retorted, opening his hand and letting Clover grab the pin himself.

“Don’t play coy with me, Qrow. You got me killed and looted my body for this.” The almost-jovial tone did nothing to stop Qrow from recoiling, feeling like he wanted to be sick. He did scavenge Clover’s corpse to get that pin, or close enough to it.

Revulsion began to bubble in his stomach, his hand coming up to press over his mouth as he realised that a tragic, grief-stricken keepsake was stolen grave goods. He was such a piece of shit, as if he had any right to pilfer anything of Clover’s when he’d gotten the man killed himself.

A hand pulled on his wrist, tugging it away from his mouth before gloved palms and bare fingers were cupping his cheeks, the steadiness telling him that Clover really was looking him in the eyes. The silence felt like forever before Clover broke it. “You can make it up to me by telling me a story.”

Qrow reached up to grab Clover’s wrist. “Haven’t I already told you plenty, Shamrock?” The nickname flowed naturally. He could easily picture the twinkle in pretty green eyes that always answered it.

He got another one of those amused laughs, Clover leaning in to steal a quick kiss from him. “You haven’t told me all of them. For example,” the hand he wasn’t holding to his face moved to his right bicep, pushing his sleeve up to trace a trio of white scars, old and faded. “Where’s this from?”

Qrow couldn’t deny him. It wasn’t even that bad a memory. “First mission I ever did for Ozpin. The operative me and Raven were sent after got a lucky hit.”

“Oh yeah?” Clover prompted him to continue. “What mission?”

He felt those cold fingers trace the scars and shuddered, the touch sinking under his skin and wrapping comfortingly around his bones. “We chased her to the Western continent, the one north of Vacuo. People go there, set up settlements. They don’t come back. She’d stolen some important stuff from Vale after killing some beacon students as a message for Oz. Raven and I were recon.”

Clover moved his hands to Qrow’s hips, cool fingers teasing at the hem of his shirt. Qrow kept talking. “Turns out those settlements? They get infected. It’s always in different ways, but the end results the same. Parasite grimm, puppeting around the bodies of people who were reckless enough to go off the edge of the map.”

“Huh.” Clover’s hands stilled for a moment before they started pushing his shirt up, pausing when another scar came into view, wrapped around Qrow’s left hip. This one was jagged and torn, left by a blade but far from a clean cut. “And this one?”

“Marcus Black, an assassin who specialised in killing Huntsmen. He was sent after Summer when she was pregnant with Ruby. Tai and I barely drove him off, but we managed it.” His heart stuttered as he felt Clover’s hand trace over it, and he pulled Clover in for another kiss. No one could hear them.

It felt too real to be fake. Not even a dream could mimic the feeling of Clover’s mouth on his, before a kiss was pressed to the corner of his lips, the line of his jaw, and sharp kisses were nipping down along the line of his throat. He swallowed hard, each kiss bringing a small flare of pain that was quickly soothed by his aura, leaving warmth in their wake.

He tried to pull the other man closer, ignoring the chill coming off him as he tilted his head to give Clover more access. He didn’t deserve this, not after what he’d done, but fuck it all he wasn’t going to complain. He could have plenty of time to feel revolted with himself later and drown in guilt, but right now Clover seemed to actually still want him. He wasn’t usually so lucky.

His shirt was rucked higher as the scar from Marcus was deemed finished with, Clover shifting to knock his knee carelessly, confidently, between Qrow’s, resting it on the bunk as his bulk crowded Qrow against the wall behind them.

Qrow suddenly remembered what scar was next and reached down to grab Clover’s wrist, a moment before it uncovered the bright violet scar tissue that curved delicately along the underside of his ribs, like a promise and a threat all in one.

“Wait. That’s-” He bit back a groan as Clover pressed a kiss to one his collarbones, sharp teeth closing on it a moment later.

He never really considered Clover as being a biter, but he guessed the man had a few surprises. Still, the sting from Tyrian felt too raw now, after what had happened to Clover. Was Clover’s death his penance for surviving the killer’s venom? “Clo- stop for a sec.”

Clover ignored him with a rumbling growl and lifted the hand Qrow wasn’t holding, using it to roughly push the collar of his shirt aside to give him more access, nails scratching lines of fire along Qrow’s skin. He felt those teeth start pressing against the junction where his neck met his shoulder, right beside yet another pale scar, and a spike of horrified clarity jammed through his brain as he realised they were _too_ sharp something was so _so_ wrong-

“I said stop!” He snapped, pulling both feet up and kicked Clover clear across the room. He ripped the blindfold off and slammed a fist against the thick glass of the window, a chill going up his nape as he amplified his semblance. Come on, there was only so much misfortune that could happen here-

His jinx worked, the technology powering the blackout function making a robotic screech before cyan hexagons rippled the ebony screen away, the night sky tainted purple and red from Salem’s storm, light streaming into the cell and letting Qrow see.

Clover picked himself up off the ground, only it wasn’t Clover. Tanned skin had become white as bone, his nails black and sharp, more like claws. Clover’s hair had remained its usual brown, tinged red in the light from outside, his bloodied uniform switched for a plain black tank top with a deep V-cut stretching down to the middle of his chest. His death-stained pin was affixed to his left breast, where it winked at Qrow with a taunting glint.

Dark red veins crawled their way from his fingertips up his arms, more stretching out from the black scar tissue in the centre of his chest and up towards his face, where they curled over the edges of his jaw, his temples, reaching hungrily for his eyes. And his _eyes_ …

Gone was the teal green that reminded Qrow of shallow seas and malachite, of flirty winks and open warmth. Angry, _hungry_ red eyes glowed in the remnants of the darkness, set over pools of pitch black, deep and infinite and empty.

Qrow’s stomach rolled as he looked into those eyes, before the Grimm- monster- Clover? Gods he was so _sorry_ \- grinned at him, inhuman fangs glinting in his predatory smile. “Clo…”

“I like Clo,” Clover chuckled, the sound that had been comforting and warm now setting Qrow’s teeth on edge. “Shamrock’s cute and all, but Clo just sounds _so_ much better, especially the way you say it now.”

Qrow pressed himself back against the wall. “You’re not Clover.”

“Sure I am,” the smile was a warped echo of Clover’s brightest grin. “Here’s proof,” he unbuttoned his vest, pulling it apart to show the rest of the scar from Harbinger. From Qrow’s own weapon.

Qrow pressed his hand to his mouth again. Yep. Gonna throw up. Fuck- and he thought the hybrids on the Western continent were bad, with their bodies half-covered in Grimm. This was worse. So much worse.

This was pure. Like Salem. This was a being of life with a desire for destruction.

“What has she done to you?” This was all his fault. Salem never could have done this if it wasn’t for him. “Fuck, Clover, I’m so sorry, I never meant for any of this-”

“Don’t apologise,” he winked. “Actually, I want to thank you. I’m glad you killed me. Now I’m finally on the winning side.”

His blood turned to ice in his veins.

“Clover?” He asked in a broken little voice, eyes quickly misting up like he was some emotionally messed-up teenager. But seriously, what was Clover saying?

Clover laughed, throwing his head back as the sound rolled out of him with a fey recklessness. “Don’t sound so upset, Qrow. It’s a compliment. You shouldn’t brush those off, remember?” Those blood red eyes twinkled at him, the reminder of how Clover had actually seen through some of his bullshit turned barbed and painful.

Qrow shrank on himself a little bit, guilt and pain rolling off of him in waves, not missing the way Clover’s tongue licked at his teeth, leaning forward slightly as something visceral and greedy flickered in his eyes.

Right. Negativity.

“Clover, this isn’t you-” he started, before the Grimm man strode towards him, waving his hand like he was waving off Qrow’s words.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m more interested in you.” Desire darted across Clover’s features, the formally attractive thought turned monstrous reality.

“Back off.” Qrow flattened himself to the wall, one knee bent up in case he needed to kick the fucker again. His fist clenched around the blindfold Clover had used, realising it was the armband the man always wore. That felt way too intimate a choice and it sent weird and confusing signals spiralling through Qrow’s head.

Clover stopped for barely a moment, quirking a brow. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No, fuck off,” Qrow snarled, hurt oozing out the cracks in his shattered defences.

Clover came closer, catching the kick Qrow shot at him and shoving it to the side as he situated himself back between Qrow’s legs, bringing his hand up to softly run the backs of his knuckles over Qrow’s cheek. Qrow snapped his teeth at the offending hand, catching fingers and ripping flesh. Black smoke spilled into the air as Clover pulled his hand back, studying his fingers as the white skin knitted itself back together in a gory display. Then those eyes were back on Qrow’s own red, indulgence and gluttony filling Clover’s formerly kind eyes.

“I’m not here to hurt you, pretty bird,” he crooned, voice going down into a lower register that sent a traitorous shiver down Qrow’s spine.

“Bullshit. I felt your teeth.” Get away from him get away.

Clover ran his hand over his brown hair, messing it up a bit. “I got carried away,” he offered as an apology. “Besides, you still owe me at least two more stories.”

“Deal’s off,” he glared at him, eyes hazing over in a way he really did not want to deal with. 

“Come on,” Clover grinned and reached forward, pushing the collar of Qrow’s shirt aside to reveal the thin scar that drew a line over his shoulder. “I like these scars, pretty bird. They make you look good enough to eat.”

Fear sparked along Qrow’s nerves as he looked at Clover, wondering if the man meant that as a threat. Clover waggled both brows back at him and deliberately flashed his fangs, tongue sliding over them in a way that didn’t ease Qrow’s sudden apprehension.

Clover almost purred at the feeling of Qrow’s distress and carded a hand through Qrow’s hair again, this time soft, caring, almost loving, with none of the possessive debauchery of before. It hit at something in Qrow’s core and shattered it, like when a diamond was struck in just the right way. 

A tear escaped him, sliding hotly down his cheekbone before he roughly scrubbed it away. Fuck, no, he didn’t want that. Not that kind of breakdown. Not in front of this twisted mockery of the man he maybe, may have, cared for. Clover was an almost, and this monster currently sliding a hand up Qrow’s thigh was not Clover.

It couldn’t be.

Clover gave him a considering look that was too familiar for those eyes and Qrow swallowed, part of him wanting to just toss caution to the wind and take whatever he could get. Carve out some good fortune from all the calamity.

“I have a second chance, Qrow. And this time I can use it to do everything I should have done.” That feckless, amoral light was back in his smile. “Make the right choices.”

“You’re wrong. She’s going to kill everyone.” And Qrow had just handed her a member of Jimmy’s inner circle on a silver fucking platter.

“I know.” Clover’s thumb rubbed circles on the skin of Qrow’s hip, his other hand resting on the bunk beside them as he loomed over Qrow. “But not you.” 

“Why not?” He hunched his shoulders defensively, wondering why he wasn’t shoving him away. He hated how under the deathly pallor and red veins he could still see Clover’s jaw, how the fangs caused the laugh lines on Clover’s face. It was too familiar and not close enough to what he wanted.

“Because I have a second chance to say everything I should have said.” Clover leaned forward so his next words were growled into Qrow’s ear. “That I want you, Qrow. That I want you to be mine. That I want to find out what we could have. I want to find out if I can love you, pretty bird.”

Clover pulled back and looked him in the eye, something regretful, almost human, flickering in the depths of endless red. “When I said you had something of mine, I meant that you have my heart. It’s yours. Are you going to tell me that after everything, you don’t feel any of that yourself?”

Qrow’s mouth felt dry, paralysed with the choice. It wasn’t right. This wasn’t Clover, this couldn’t be Clover. This had to be a Grimm taking Clover’s body for a spin.Saying the words Qrow wished he could have heard. It was a trick, a trap, a lie. It had to be. 

He’d seen hybrids. They never looked like this. This was like Salem. This was as though Clover’s very essence had been changed, on a deep and irreversible level.

But it had still been Salem. Proud, arrogant, hurting Salem, who had sparked a conflict between gods that brought a world to ruin, long before she ever became what she was now.

This was still Clover. Twisted, dark, destructive, but part of him still had to be his Clover.

Maybe that part of him staring back into Qrow’s eyes, with a trace of apology and guilt swimming under the carnal desire.

He extended a hand to rest on Clover’s chest, cringing as he touched the blackened scar, and felt something thump under his fingers. Maybe it was a heart. Maybe it was still human.

Maybe Qrow was fooling himself.

But he pulled Clover close anyway, whispering something that wasn’t quite an ‘I love you’ against the monster’s lips, before Clover’s next kiss, sharp with victory, stole his breath away.

**Author's Note:**

> And though no one's to blame, it's a crime and a shame, but it's true all the same, it's a dangerous game...
> 
> well, as adorable as the past four prompts have been, this is a bit of a return to form for me, not going to lie. Poor Clover just sure isn't lucky in any of my post-ep 12 stories, now is he?


End file.
